


Golden Fair

by SwirliesDominate



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010), Complete, Hand Job, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, anders is healthy and safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwirliesDominate/pseuds/SwirliesDominate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an twisted, tangled alternate universe, Anders is held captive by his protective guardian, and it isn't until a certain someone stumbles into the tower Anders calls home that he realizes there's a whole world outside these stone walls. </p><p>Handers Tangled AU</p><p>Starring:<br/>Anders as Rapunzel<br/>Hawke as Flynn<br/>Justice as Mother Gothel<br/>Princess as Maximus<br/>Ser Pounce-a-Lot as Pascal</p><p>Just an idea I had in my mind that I really wanted to get out (first in art form, apparently). A fic just for giggles and fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

In a land far, far away, where mages and templars live united in peace, a young man waits in his tower.

Anders knew the tower, and only the tower. Everything that he could see from the tower’s only window was well beyond his reach, lush green fields and forests filled to the brim with teeming life that he could only dream of discovering. With a frustrated huff, Anders turned away from the window -- away from his temptations -- to instead focus on his tasks for the day.

7 AM, so the usual morning lineup: start on the chores and sweep 'til the floor's all clean, polish and wax, do laundry, and mop and shine up. Sweep again, and by then it's like...7:15. Great.

And so he’d read a book, or maybe two, maybe three. Then he’d add a few new paintings to his gallery, play guitar and knit, and cook and basically just wonder _when will my life begin?_ Anders found himself drawn to the window again, staring out before shaking his head and sighing. There had to be something else to do, right?

After lunch it’s puzzles and darts and baking. A bit of paper mache, a bit of ballet and chess. Pottery and ventriloquy, candle making, if he was truly desperate, which Anders was. He’d paint the walls some more, sure there was room somewhere. This wall of dead templars wasn’t going to paint itself.

While applying a few more coats of red to imitate blood, Anders couldn’t help but remember what tomorrow was. He glanced towards the one section of the wall dedicated to his favorite day -- the day the floating lights appeared in the night sky. They floated into the air as quietly as fireflies, lighting the night sky only once the entire year. Tomorrow night, the lights would appear just like they do each year, like clockwork. Part of Anders wondered what the world out there was like, where magic was so openly accepted, at least for that one night. Sometimes he would recreate the lights with his own magic, spreading them all about his room and then blowing out all the candles. He found himself wandering back over to the window, ignoring the electricity that crackled its way from his fingers to his upper arm, magic making itself known without his willing.

Justice had always said magic was precious in Anders’ hands, and Anders had believed his father. But magic was so precious it had to be hidden away, for fear that others would grow jealous and try to take it from him. They would _kill_ Anders out of fear and jealousy, of that Justice had no doubt. And that was why Anders had to stay hidden away in the tower. He had to stay away from the templars that roamed the world of Thedas, for if they found a mage like Anders, they would surely strip him away of the one thing he loved most in the world.

Pulled from his dark thoughts by a curious ‘mrrpp’ from Ser Pounce-a-Lot, Anders smiled at his cat and reached down to pet the friendly creature. Other than Justice, Ser Pounce-a-Lot was his only other friend, and while cats were great company, he did wonder what it was like to have human friends. His books spoke of children running and playing together in large groups, their only care in the world keeping their bellies full. And then there were stories where the hero met their love; something Anders could never relate with. Sometimes Anders felt ashamed to read those stories, and in fits of embarrassment he would hide them under his bed so that maybe he would forget about their dark promises.

Twenty five years tomorrow. Twenty five years Anders had been trapped in this tower, slowly driven mad by his ache of freedom. There would have been escape attempts, had Anders not known that climbing down the tower would have ended in instant death because of the wards at the very bottom. Anders remembered escaping on his twelfth birthday, how he had set down only one foot on the ground before the wards had sprung to life, licking fire around his ankles. Anders had screamed and screamed, unable to climb back fast enough and unable to run through the field of flames surrounding the tower. Justice had to rescue Anders and dump a bucket of water on the boy once he was back in the tower, looking down at the dripping mess with a look of extreme disappointment that only Justice could pull off.

For all the worry Justice put into protecting Anders, it sometimes felt like he took more precautions to keep Anders inside rather than the dangers out.

_“You can’t keep me trapped here my entire life, Justice! I want to know what the world outside is like -- I know there is more to life than just rotting away in a tower. You cannot scare me with tales of shadows and monsters any longer!” Anders cried out, sitting at the table in front of the birthday cake Justice had presented him for his eighteenth birthday._

_“Anders. Should I send you out into the world, you would be devoured by the unjust because of their desire for your magic. No other mage can heal as you do. Should you be discovered…” Justice trailed off, not needing to explain further._

_“And when will I be ready to ‘send out’? I’m a man now!” Anders stood abruptly from the table, Justice standing slowly as well. They stared each other down for the moment, Anders wondering how he looked in his father’s eyes. Anders sometimes wondered if he and Justice were even related at all, the two of them looked so different. Justice was perhaps once a handsome man, but he looked stretched thin, as if he was slowly decaying. Anders was tall, almost taller than Justice now, but he was lanky, with barely any muscle to him. His long blonde hair had been growing for years and years now, hastily pulled into a ponytail since the man couldn’t be bothered to cut it. At eighteen, he was just now finally starting to get some stubble, though the rest of his lanky body had long since been covered in soft blonde hairs._

_Where Anders was filled with laughter and energy, Justice could could not be bothered to smile or laugh for anything, and focused in on all his goals with deadly focus._

_“You are no more a man than your cat is a lion. Trust me, Anders. Father..” Justice waited, quietly, and Anders slowly sat, gloomily staring down at his cake._

_“...knows best.”_

The anger that welled in Anders was fresh, though the memory he touched was old. Each year Anders asked, pleaded, demanded to be set free, and each year Justice snuffed the flame of rebellion flickering in his heart.

Well, not this year! This year Anders had a _plan_ , and a good one at that; ask again. Anders took a loose stone from the windowsill and threw it out of the open window with frustration, knowing his plan would work as miserably as it did every year. Ser Pounce-a-Lot made a disapproving noise from the rafters, and Anders bit back a mean retort, knowing yelling at the cat would earn him no favors. Something _new_ had to happen, and take Anders away from this miserable place! That’s what he thought every year, and to this day it was his folly. So tomorrow, Anders would finally escape...and his life would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act 1!  
> Anders wonders when his life will begin  
> Answer: not this act buddy


	2. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Anders meet for the first time...not under the best of circumstances.
> 
> I always HC my Hawke with a bit of chub, which he's a little self-conscious about. Beefcake arms and legs, and a soft belly~

Hawke knew the hard life, but not _only_ the hard life. He and his family had once lived as kings in the forests, not rich in materialistic things but rich with love and togetherness. That all came to a screeching halt when Hawke’s father died from a sudden illness, forcing the rest of them to flee to his mother’s brother in nearby Kirkwall. Turns out his uncle wasn’t doing as well as he claimed, and what they had been able to scavenge for in the forest was now a bit harder to do in the large city that was Kirkwall, provided you were wanting to remain attached to your ‘thieving’ hand.

The conflict between mages and templars had long since died out, an uneasy peace forced onto Thedas by the Divine’s mandate. That had been some three hundred years ago now, and all those who remembered the wars and conflicts were long dead. Hawke couldn’t understand why anyone would fear mages so much that their only options for dealing with them was to either make them Tranquil or just outright kill them. Thankfully, mages had a better-established position in society, and lived in the freedom that they had dreamed of. He remembered the tales of how the rebellions had flared to life, but much was lost to history, or twisted, and you had to take the tales with a grain of salt.

But history aside, there were still the rich and poor, and Hawke unfortunately fell in among the poor, especially since his mother had three children to support. He was approaching his twenty second birthday this upcoming summer, with the twins barely seventeen. Things weren’t as harsh as they could be, with both Carver and Bethany working in the city. Really the biggest problem had been Gamlen, their uncle, who refused to do anything but drink and rest his face in whores’ bosoms. And steal from his newfound tenants, that was an issue too. Hawke had offered to set the man on fire time and time again, but his mother wouldn’t hear it, insisting that if they just continued to save coin, they would be able to buy their way from the streets.

Hawke had a slightly more _immediate_  idea of how to buy their way from the streets.

Stealing the crown hadn’t been his smartest idea, but at least he hadn’t involved the twins, instead relying on two sellswords who were contemplating how to slit Hawke’s throat the moment he pushed coin into their hands. They would have to be dealt with, but hopefully not until he had the crown in hand. Everyone fretted about the importance of the crown, but what if Hawke just took the jewels pressed into said crown? Seemed like less of an issue.

Kirkwall was a seedy town, but at least the seedy folk knew where they were supposed to be, so when Hawke found the security around the castle lax he couldn’t count himself surprised. He went for the roof, climbing the walls with rope and a hook borrowed from Isabela. Once atop the roof, Hawke helped the other two goons up so that they could lower him down into the throne room. Spotting the glint of gold, Hawke curled himself up and waited as he was slowly lowered down. The throne room had a few guards watching the crown atop the empty throne, but their backs were turned, assuming all assaults would come through the too-obvious front door. Hawke watched them carefully, sweating bullets and praying to the Maker that none of them caught the slight sway of the rope. He made a mad grab for the crown and tugged on the rope. Thank the Maker, his goons were quick in reeling him in.

“I had no doubt this would work smoothly.” Hawke said once they set him down on the roof, crown cradled in his hands (which were trembling with nerves). “Nooo doubt.”

Eyepatch -- he had never bothered to learn their names, just called them Eyepatch and Two Eyes -- cracked his knuckles and gave Hawke a sneering grin. “I’m afraid this is where we part, good ser.”

Hawke let out a miserable sigh and nodded, clasping Eyepatch on the shoulder. “You’re right. I’m ever so sorry we have to leave, it has been _such_ fun. I’ll miss you the most, Eyepatch. You have such a twinkle in your...er, eye.” Instantly Eyepatch was frozen solid, the man caught in a look of horror. His slick ice body tried to slide off the castle’s steep roof, but Hawke was having none of that, making sure to freeze his feet to the roof plating. “Murder wouldn’t look good on my flawless record, now would it?”

Two Eyes shrieked and ran down the roof, legs pumping as he fought to get far away from the mage. He managed to get all the way to the lower roof of the guard barracks before Hawke raised his hand and froze the goon, watching in dismay as the frozen body tumbled down into the courtyard below and shattered. “Oh...well.” He bit his lip and hurried down from the roof, rushing all the more when he heard the screams from the courtyard. He jumped down onto the ground and made a mad dash for the forest, shoving the crown into his satchel all the while in hopes no one would see the glint of gold in the darkness.

It wasn’t long before he heard the approaching yells of templars crashing through the forest, but thankfully Hawke had his horse waiting for his getaway. He climbed atop the mare and kicked her into a run, trusting the warhorse to dodge through the trees while he picked the gems from the crown. _Hurry, hurry, you fool!_ He thought to himself, clenching his thighs tight around Princess when she jumped over a fallen log. One gem out! Just...oh, shit, three more to go!? Hawke glanced back at the templars gaining behind him and worked even faster to pop out the rest. Digging the jewels from the gold mounts of the crown wasn’t easy, even more so while attempting it horseback, but Hawke was desperate, and managed to get the third out by the time he heard the Mabari hounds. “Shit shit shit!”

He pocketed the gems and twisted, throwing the crown back into the forest with as much strength as he could muster. The smooth glide of it impressed Hawke, and he let out a little gleeful ‘yes!’ when he saw it land neatly on a tree branch way back. He sat forward to direct Princess, taking hold of her reins and urging her faster.

Once Hawke no longer heard the Mabari hounds or templars, he dismounted and led Princess to a nearby stream, stroking her twitching sides. “Good run, girl. These will fetch us some good money, huh?”

She gave a disbelieving snort, clever girl that she was, and bent her neck to drink. Hawke took the time to examine the gems, turning the gleaming rocks over in his hands so that he might watch the play of colors against his skin.

Hearing the soothing tones of a guitar, Hawke stood from his spot by the stream and turned his head towards the direction of the sound. Princess raised her head as well, curious to where her human was now headed. Hawke pushed his way through the thick brush leading in that direction, sure he would just hit a wall of vines and branches when the tangled branches finally gave way to his insistence. Letting out a little gasp, Hawke stumbled out into the clearing, a near perfect circle of a field surrounded by the forest. Princess followed him through the brush and immediately trotted over to the sweet-looking grass, content to graze. But Hawke had his eyes on the tower, where the sound of music was growing louder.

“Would you look at that. What’s a tower doing way out here?” He whistled once, low, and hurried over, pulling out his hook and rope when he saw no obvious doorway at the bottom.

Princess watched with general disinterest as her rider approached the tower, munching lazily on the grass as she glanced up to the top. Seeing a flicker of motion, she whickered nervously, but Hawke shushed her with a wave of his hand. He touched the stones of the tower cautiously, calloused hands skimming over the stones until he found one out far enough that he could stab into the crevice. Muscles protesting but holding strong, Hawke climbed the tower, slowly realizing that he no longer heard the strumming of the guitar. But already he was so close to the window -- and there! His hand grasped the curve of the windowsill and he was able to pull himself the rest of the way up, flopping into the tower with an ungraceful ‘thud’.

The man groaned and sat up, rubbing his lower back gently as he took in the inside of the tower. There was one large room that took the majority of the space, with a door tucked in the back that probably led to the small outcrop that he had seen from outside. The bedroom, perhaps. The tower was filled to the brim with knick-knacks of all kinds; candles, puzzles, balls of yarn, and...there! The guitar he had heard. Hawke picked himself up from the floor and bent over to pick up the guitar, holding the solid weight easily in one hand. It was still slightly warm, so whoever had been playing it couldn’t be...far…

Hawke twisted when he heard footsteps, blue eyes scanning the darker corners of the room until he spotted the man. He was tall, and skinny, clothed in bizarre robes Hawke recognized as Circle robes, dated back about 400 years ago. Feathers? Really? “So. Uh. Hey.” Hawke licked his lips, just now noticing the staff in the other man’s hand and cursed silently.

“Are you mage or t-templar?” The man demanded, grasping his staff threateningly with both hands now. The barest spark of lightning traveled up the wooden staff and Hawke swallowed nervously. The man didn’t seem to like either of those options, and when Hawke didn’t answer quickly enough, the man slammed his staff on the floor. “Answer me!”

“Mage! I’m a mage! I just heard the guitar, and thought maybe there was something interesting up here!” Hawke blurted, holding his hands up to protect himself.

The skinny man took a moment to look Hawke up and down, brow furrowed as if he saw something he didn’t like. “You’re too large to be a mage.”

“I-- excuse me? I am a _perfectly normal-sized man_.” Hawke defended himself, cursing when his cheeks burned red. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t in great shape -- there was that soft belly, whatever, but he could still climb castles and run from templars, so that had to count for something!

“Who’s ever heard of a mage that needed muscle?” The strange man grumbled, jabbing his staff forward until he had Hawke pinned against one of the stone walls. “I don’t believe you...Templar!” Hawke opened his mouth to protest, only to be rewarded with a surge of electricity to his chest that knocked him out.

Anders breathed out slowly, watching the strange man slump against the wall and crumble to the ground like a doll. Panic flared in his chest; he hadn’t meant to kill the man! He still had questions! Warily, Anders felt for a pulse, and when he found one, he dragged the man over to a chair to wait for him to wake.

 


	3. Act 3

The man woke maybe an hour after Anders had attacked him, groaning loudly and blinking several times before seeming to focus in on his surroundings. “Maker, fuck.” The man groaned again, shaking his head of black hair to clear his thoughts. Remembering all that had happened, he looked up, Anders standing in before him with his arms crossed, still armed with the magic staff from earlier. “Uh...look, if I stumbled into something weird…”

“Silence, _templar_. I’ll be asking the questions here.” Anders gave a small nod and started to pace around the tower as he reviewed the questions he had come up with.

“Just one thing?” The man tried, conspicuously tugging on the rope that held him to the chair he was tied to.

“What?”

“I’m not a templar. Look!” He held up his hands, still flickering with the remains of flame magic. “Mage, just like I said!” When Anders took a cautious step back, the man cleared his throat and lowered his hands. “A friendly mage. Might forgive you for electrocuting me and everything.”

“A mage? Then...how are you here? How did you get past the wards?” Taking an excited step forward, his cautious glare was lost to overwhelming excitement. “What’s the outside world like? Are there a lot of mages out there?” Anders started to blurt out questions before he could rein himself in, taking more excited steps towards this stranger until he realized that a mage was not safe either. “You’re not going to...suck out my magic, will you?”

The stranger choked, pounding his chest when he realized Anders was completely serious. “How about...we tackle one question at a time, huh? I’m not going to suck out your magic. Seriously. Where did you even get that…? Anyway. I don’t know what wards you’re talking about, but I didn’t sense any.” Anders frowned at that, hurrying away from the stranger to grab the closest thing next to him -- in this case a finely knitted green and gold scarf -- and threw it out the window. When the scarf hit the ground there was nothing. No wards. No fire. No _magic_.

The stranger watched him with confusion evident, clearing his throat when Anders failed to look away from the ground. “Uh, sooo…”

“Shush.” Anders chided him, hurrying away from the window to grab a ladder by his bookcase. After he threw it out the window and made sure the attachments were secure, he motioned to it. “Climb back down.” 

  
“What?” The stranger groaned at the idea, rubbing his muscled arms gingerly. “I’m not 100% yet, you know…”

“ _CLIMB_.” Anders insisted through clenched teeth, watching as the stranger huffed and puffed and climbed down the ladder to the bottom of the tower. He waited at the bottom, stomping around the ground at the base and holding his arms out to his sides, silently saying, ‘See? It’s safe’. After Anders threw on his boots he was eagerly down the ladder too, hesitating just a moment before touching the ground. _Nothing happened._

Anders gasped so loud, the stranger took a step back. “It’s...there’s no wards! No wards! I’m free!” He took a lap around the tower, ignoring the confused stares from the stranger to roll through the grass and act like a fool. He ran back up to the stranger and grasped him hard, kissing him for just a moment. “Thank you! Oh, Maker bless you, thank you!”

The stranger, a bit dazed by the sudden kiss, blinked over and over, mouth slightly agape. “N-no problem. You’re acting like this is your first time out of that tower.”

  
“It is.” Anders insisted, landing on his back on the grass.

“You’re shitting me.” 

“I’m _not_.” Anders sighed contently, rolling over so that he could get a better smell of the green grass.

“Maker guide me. You’re not kidding, are you? Was someone holding you prisoner?” The stranger asked, taking a seat next to Anders on the grass.

Anders mused over his answer, biting his lip with his teeth and rolling it absent-mindedly. “Yeah. Prisoner is a good word. And you! You’re going to show me the outside world.” Anders sat up suddenly and grabbed the stranger’s shirt to drag him closer.

But the stranger only scoffed, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Says who?”

“If you want to see those pretty rocks again, that says who. Father did not teach me many things of the world, but he taught me the importance of money. And those rocks have to be worth something, right?” Anders grinned as the stranger realized he was missing his satchel, twisting from side to side to feel his pockets.

The stranger let out an exasperated groan and pushed Anders away. “Fine, I’ll show you around! Just...halve your number of questions! I obviously have a lot of work ahead of me if you think it’s okay to kiss strangers and inhale grass. Before you ask, my name is Hawke. It is a goddamn pleasure to meet you.”

Anders put forward his hand and was pleased when Hawke shook it. “A pleasure, Hawke.” They sat, shaking their hands for a few seconds too long before Hawke groaned again.

“And _your name is_ …?”

“Anders. Sorry. Interactions with actual humans is….new.” Anders tittered a little, finally letting go of his death-grip on Hawke’s hand.

“Yeah, I could tell.” Hawke said dryly, glancing towards Princess a bit farther in the field. “Seeing all of Thedas is kind of a tall order. Can I get you to narrow it a bit?”

Anders sat forward, his hands clenched his lap as he thought of the maps of Thedas he had studied for years, wondering where all to travel, when he realized the answer was in front of him this entire time. “The lights. I want to see the floating lights.”

Anders was glad when Hawke seemed to recognize what he was saying, the muscled mage giving a small nod. “Okay, that’s...well, not great. I’d like to avoid Kirkwall.”

“I want to see the lights.”

“Yeah, but there’s --”

“ _Hawke_.” Anders whined, grabbing the man’s shirt and shaking him until the fabric threatened to rip open.

“Hey, stop that! There’s no arguing with you, is there? Fine. We’ll see the lights. Great. Just have to do a lot more work than literally any other place would need.” Hawke pulled away from Anders with an eyeroll and whistled to Princess, pleased when she snorted and headed over towards them. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of a detour. Lights don’t start till night anyway.”

“As long as we see the lights, I do not care.” Anders said firmly, glancing back up into the tower. “Let me grab a few things before we go.”

Hawke stood and stroked Princess’ mane, watching Anders curiously. “Hey, promise me something. If you can’t handle this outside world, I want you to promise you’ll give me the gems. I’d rather not kill  you -- what _would_ my Mother say?”

Anders paused on the ladder but gave a small nod. “I will give you the gems on those two conditions, then. Please wait one moment.” He climbed back up into the tower, leaving Hawke to contemplate the mess he had gotten himself into.

Anders was so excited to explore this brand new world that he didn’t even want to bother packing. Throwing everything of importance into a backpack laying nearby, Anders hurried to the window to climb back down, but not before grabbing up Ser Pounce-a-Lot. He took a moment to look around the tower once more, wondering if he would ever return. Surely he had to say goodbye to Justice. If this ended up working out, he could drag Hawke back and show his father just how well he had done in the outside world. Anders adjusted his robes with a grin, hurrying back down to the ladder. Now his life would begin **.**

 


	4. Act 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief vomit mention // 
> 
> I had to include the song. It was just so perfect for Hawke's crew. Plus a cameo by Marian, from my other fic Twin Hawkes.

Hawke braced himself as Anders gagged again, the man barely able to ride Princess, much less stop vomiting.

“I’m _dying_.” The man whimpered, leaning over the side of the plow horse.

“You’re not dying, you’re motion-sick. Look, our destination isn’t far. Can you keep your food down for thirty more minutes? I’m having a hard enough time leading you with all this blonde hair stuck in my face.” Hawke huffed, glad Anders was seated in front of him and not behind, though that was proving to be a bittersweet tradeoff. Sure, Hawke wasn’t getting barf on his vest, but he had Ander’s pretty golden hair practically stuffed up his nose and that tall body obscuring his view when it wasn’t hunched over the side of his horse.

Princess gave an angry whicker when Anders coughed and spat, making the skinny mage apologize. “Oh, Maker, I’m so sorry. I won’t get any vomit on Princess, I promise.”

“Damn right you won’t. She’s already brown enough.” Hawke sighed and put a reassuring hand on Anders’ back. “Look, we’re close enough. Let’s just walk.” They dismounted -- well, Hawke did, Anders just kinda fell -- and set out for the Hanged Man, Anders slowly recovering.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact you’ve never been out of that tower.” Hawke admitted after a moment, leading Princess over a particularly nasty bunch of knotted tree roots.

Anders chuckled, holding his arms out slightly as he maneuvered the forest floor. “Believe me, it’s a bit of an adjustment. This is so...nice. And it just goes on forever, doesn’t it? The sky, the land….”

“Depends on your particular brand of ‘forever’. In which it doesn’t, I mean.”

“If this is what those green patches on the map are like, I’d love to see what the blue ones look like.” Anders commented softly, tripping just slightly. “But there are...cities, yes? Where people gather. Mages and templars alike, and some who are neither.”

“Kirkwall’s not too far. It’s not the first city I would show someone like you. Maybe Orlais, or Denerim.”

“Par Vollen?” Anders suggested, making Hawke snort with laughter.   
  
“Not even Kirkwall’s as bad as that place. You want to go visit the Qunari? You’re adventurous, for someone who’s never seen anything.”

“The Qunari sound interesting.” Anders sighed and rolled his eyes, seeing as Hawke thought his idea was ridiculous. “How far to Kirkwall, anyway?”

“We have to go over the dam and get to the Hanged Man first.” Hawke paused and pointed, guiding Anders’ gaze over the roaring waterfall down the mountainside to the Hanged Man. “Maybe two hours, if we rush it. We’ve already covered the longest distance on Princess.”

Anders started to walk again, hurrying down the hill to squint at the waterfall. A lone bridge swayed over the rapid waters, so thread-bare and shaky it basically screamed ‘doom’. “Hawke, how do you expect me to cross this?” He asked, watching as Hawke scratched at his beard in thought.

“You take two feet and just--”

“This thing looks ready to fall apart!” Anders gestured once more to the bridge, unsure if he and Hawke were seeing the same pitiful picture. “It can’t hold me, much less your horse.”

“Come on. I crossed this just a few hours ago! It’s perfectly fine. I’ll even go first.” Proceeding towards the bridge, Hawke stepped across the shaky wooden planks to the other side, carefully leading Princess the  entire way. Anders found himself finally breathing again once the burly man was safely on the other side, though now came the deciding moment. “Let’s go Anders!” Hawke cheered from the other side, barely heard over the roar of the crashing water.

Anders sprinted across the bridge, his feet barely making contact as he hurried across, eyes trained on Hawke. He threw himself to the ground once across, heart hammering against his chest like a feral animal. “Shit shit shit.”

“Look, the prince made it.” Hawke gave a slow, sarcastic clap, and hauled Anders to his feet. “Not so bad, was it?”

“I hate you.” Anders mumbled, righting himself and brushing off all the dust clinging to his robes.

“What did you think was going to happen? The bridge would collaps--” A loud groan hummed from their feet -- from the cliffside they were standing on, to be exact. Hawke paused mid-sentence, blue eyes flicking over to where cracks had started to appear in the rock. “Motherfu--”

Both men screamed as the cliffside crumbled, Princess watching the two fall with an almost bored expression. Anders’ screams were quickly evolving into full on weeping, and they were both probably going to die. They smacked the water hard, Hawke the hardest, one of his legs hitting part of the fallen rock at an awkward angle. Thankfully the pool at the bottom was deep only at the very base of the waterfall -- the current swept the two men to the shallow end, smashing Anders to shore and leaving Hawke to flounder with his one good leg.

Anders was very clearly unconscious, a large gash in his head was bleeding and coloring the water red. Hawke dragged him from the water and flipped him onto his back, checking for a pulse and letting out a soft ‘oh thank the Maker’ when he felt one. His own leg was fractured, if not broken. Anders coughed weakly before going silent again, breathing shallowly but steady. Hawke sat back on the shore and sighed, knowing it was him or Anders.

 

\-------------------------

 

Anders woke feeling warm, his body comfortably wrapped in something big and soft. His head throbbed just a tad but it was nothing serious. Hearing the crackle of a fire, Anders slowly lifted his head, staring dumbly at the flames until Hawke sneezed and broke the silence. The big man looked a right mess, wrapped in a blanket and his left leg jutting out with awkward stiffness. “Oh, good, you’re awake.” Hawke sniffled and tried again to speak, those blue eyes looking a bit glazed. “I have some bad news, buddy.”

“We fell...from the cliff.” Anders suddenly remembered, turning his head quickly to look at the waterfall, seemingly so calm now. Princess had made it down the mountainside apparently, the horse nuzzling at the grass at the moment.

“I managed to fracture my leg. I’m not going to be able to move until at least tomorrow, when my magic is restored.” The news was exactly what Anders didn’t want to hear -- the mage scrambled from his blankets and hurried over, studying the leg with a healer’s eye.

“Hawke.” The man in glanced down at the mention of his name, curious as to what Anders was doing. First the blanket was pulled away, and then his pant’s leg was rolled up, exposing the swollen flesh. “Do you trust me?”

“I...guess?”

“Then don’t scream.” Anders took a deep breath in and got to work, his hands glowing a faint gold as he moved them up and around Hawke’s leg. Slowly the pain ebbed away, renewed for just a moment when Anders had to move the bone into place again. He was an excellent healer, and had learned through years and years of having to heal Justice and his decaying body. It wasn’t until the mage was done that Hawke realized he had been singing under his breath. “There.”

“A healer, huh?” Hawke slowly moved his mended leg, satisfied that it no longer hurt. “Thanks.” But the shock on Anders’ face prompted him to ask, “What is it?”

“You’re not shocked.”

“No, but you are...for some reason.”

“I was told healers were extremely rare.” Anders stood carefully, a little wobbly after using so much magic. Hawke stood to steady him, raising one of his own hands and letting the faint golden glow of magic dust his palm with light.

“You’re looking at a healer right now. And if I can manage it, I think some other idiots can too.” Hawke laughed, letting the light flicker. “Most mages can at least reduce swelling.”

“So it’s not some...rare ability that would have mages scrambling to steal my magic?” Anders was growing pale by the second, and Hawke reached out and grasped him by the shoulders.

“Andraste’s ashes, Anders, you’re a phenomenal healer. It took all of my magic just to heal that gash on your head, and you’re still standing after you fixed my leg. What is with you and mages sucking up your magic? That’s not a thing.”

“I still have a lot to learn.” Anders muttered, feeling for the gash Hawke had mentioned. The healing was clean and there would be no scar. His heart fluttered a bit at the knowledge that Hawke had chosen to heal this instead of his own leg. “Where’s my robe?”

“By the fire.” Hawke nodded over in that direction, a sheepish grin growing. “Didn’t want you catching death.”

“I think I have enough magic left to dry the clothing...you are shirtless, right? It’s hard to tell if there’s any skin under all that horrid fur.” Anders teased, gathering up their clothing to start.

“Har har.” Hawke scratched at his chest a bit self consciously, waiting patiently as Anders dried. “Maybe I should have left you to drown in that pool.”

“But then you wouldn’t get to go to see the lights, and that would be so disappointing.” Anders cooed back, the sarcastic acid thick in his voice.

Hawke took his shirt when it was offered to him, pulling it on with a content sigh. Warm clothes were always so great when you’re cold. “Let’s haul ass so we don’t miss said lights.”


	5. Act 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just had to add in this song; it's one of my favorites!

“So where are we going now?” Anders asked, spotting the little tavern off in the distance, surrounded by horses and drunkards alike.

“Oh, someplace I think you’ll love.” Grinning, Hawke ran towards his favorite bar, excited to show Anders just all the fun you could get through actual people interactions.

The bar grew hushed when Hawke walked in, Anders in tow. The place was barely lit, some candles flickering in the deepest corners, but Maker, was the place packed. Nasty faces scowled at the two as they walked up to the bar. It was so quiet Hawke thought he might have heard the scratching of Varric’s pen if he stopped to listen. “Two ales, if you please. And make one of em strong. Someone’s never had alcohol before.”

The bar erupted into laughter, men and women hurrying over to Anders to push the man around and ask him, “Really!?” Anders cried out feebly for Hawke’s assistance, but the man was busy being greeted by his friends.

“Alright, alright, let the man breathe! He’s also never smelled a stench as fine as the Hanged Man!” Hawke roared, scattering the other patrons from Anders’ body on the floor. Hawke helped the man up and pulled him over to the bar. His crew was standing around, waiting to be introduced, so Hawke obliged them. “Anders, meet the lovely Isabela, the sweet Merrill, the broody Fenris, the most handsome Varric,and my horrible, horrible sister Marian.”

“Oh, this one’s cute, Hawke, where did you dig him up from?” Isabela asked, pressing against Hawke’s arm to grab his attention.

“He electrocuted me, and what can I say? Blackmail, pity, and a few other factors got me to take him into Kirkwall tonight.” Hawke said, shaking his head as if to say ‘what can you do about it’?

“It’s very nice to meet you! If you’d like, I can show you around too!” Merrill chirped, tugging at Anders’ robes. “These are very interesting robes. Can I ask where you got them? They’re very charming, in an ancient sort of way. Like an elder, I suppose! So full of wisdom and all.”

Marian gave a little half-wave from her place against the bar, Fenris’ arm tight around her waist. “It’s very nice to meet you, Anders. I hope my ass of a twin isn’t giving you too much trouble.”

“Oh, uh, no, except for the whole riding thing.” Anders stammered, so unused to being at the center of attention. He blushed and squirmed, especially so when everyone burst out laughing.

“My, Hawke. This is an interesting development.” Varric chuckled from his seat at a nearby table while the rest of Hawke’s group laughed.

“My horse! He means riding my horse!” Hawke blushed as well and groaned, quickly burying his face into his pitcher of ale. “Maker guide me.”

“Oh, look at how red he’s getting!” Isabela cooed, stroking Hawke’s arm. “Was that a fun sort of electrocution earlier?”

Amused by how embarrassed Hawke was, Anders took a tentative sip of ‘ale’ and had to stop himself from spitting it out onto the bar. Maker’s breath! “What in the world…?” He cursed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why does this taste so horrible and yet burn?” Anders grew still for a moment, and Hawke wondered if he was going to vomit again.

“How much food you got in that stomach of yours?” Hawke asked with amusement, waiting until Anders looked less green to order him a glass of juice instead.

Noticing a distinct lack of tension, Hawke frowned and glanced to Marian, asking, “Where’s Aveline?”

Marian perked an eyebrow and finished her gulp of ale before answering. “She’s off cleaning up your mess. Care to explain that?” This caught the attention of his friends again and Hawke groaned.

“I’d rather not, at least until I deal with him. It’s...a long story.” Hawke dug into his pockets for the few meager coins he had, grumbling when Marian paid the rest of his bill.

“Thought you’d at least tell me.” She huffed, and like a double-headed dragon, Fenris was starting to glare at Hawke too.

“Look, I just need one day in Kirkwall. The kid sees the lights and I’ll come back and let Aveline rip me apart.”

“This is one story you better share, Hawke, or I’ll start filling in the blanks!” Varric called, making Hawke smile again.

“Are you a kid, exactly?” Merrill asked Anders, who was currently cradling his glass of cranberry juice.

“What? Maker, no, I’m twenty five.” Anders frowned and took a drink. “Today, is in fact, my birthday.” He looked smug about it, grin growing shy when Hawke’s friends let out a congratulatory ‘ooh’ for him.

“‘A kid’, he says! Maker, Hawke, he’s older than you!” Isabela laughed, long black locks bouncing with her mirth.

“Should we sing a song for him? It’s his birthday, after all.” Merrill asked excitedly, clasping her hands together and starting to hum a tune.

“We will not be singing.” Fenris growled from the bar.

“I’m fine with not singing.” Anders seconded nervously, cheeks burning red.

“Nonsense! This is what people do on birthdays!” Isabela jumped on stage and posed, waiting until lights illuminated her figure against the stone wall -- was that blood stains behind her?! “ _I’ve got a dream! It involves you and me Anders, and a little bit of that electricity_!” She winked and pointed to Varric, who leaned back in his chair and grinned.

“ _Cuz way down deep inside we’ve got a dream?_ ”

“ _I’ve got a dream! I’ve got a dream_!” Merrill sung from the bar, her hands in the air until the lights shined on her. “ _You see I’m not a scary as I seem! You can count me with the dreamers, like everybody else I’ve got a dream_!”

“What is it?” Hawke yelled over the music that had started up.

“Oh goodness, I don’t know!” Merrill laughed and sat back down, the light whipping over to Marian.

“ _I’ve got scars and bumps and bruises, plus a lack of holy muses. But besides my evil looks and my muscles and perfection…! I really wanna make a love connection_!” She winked at Fenris, who grinned and bent down to kiss her.

“Fenris!” The light shone on Fenris, at least long enough for him to glare and growl out a raspy, “NO,” before pulling Marian into another kiss.

“Anders!” The mage froze up at the mention of his name and stood still, eyes scanning the room as everyone waited expectantly. “ _Um...I’ve got a dream! I just want to see the those floating lights gleam! And with every passing hour I’m so glad I left my tower...like all you folks I’ve got a dream_!”

“Hawke!” The man had jumped onto the stage with Isabela, one arm around her shoulders as the two swayed. “ _I’ve got dreams like you, no really, just much less touchy-feely. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny. On an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone...surrounded by enormous piles of money_!”

The bar cheered on that ending note, Hawke dragging Anders away before he melted into the floorboards. “So...actual interaction?” He asked before they left, grinning when he heard his friends yelling for Anders to come back soon. Then they were outside, shutting out the rowdy tavern with the thick front door.

Anders took a breath of the fresh outside air and grinned at Hawke. “ _Extraordinary_.”


	6. Act 6

 “Look at this!” Hawke ran over to one of the nearby trees, tearing off a ‘Wanted’ poster to show the ridiculous-looking picture to Anders. “Is this supposed to be me?” Hawke sounded offended, touching the face of the man in the poster sadly. “I know Aveline is protecting me until she can rip me in half herself, but this is so very mean. They forgot my cool beard.”

“Hawke, we’ve been walking for hours now.” Anders groaned, walking ahead of the other mage since he was taking too long.

"We’d be riding for maybe two hours, but someone can’t hold down their food.” Hawke huffed as he jogged to catch up, poster rolled up and stuffed into his back pocket.

“Maybe Princess is just a bad ride.” Anders grumbled, startled when the horse bumped him with her hip and sent him sprawling on the ground. Hawke gawked and started to laugh, holding his belly.

“Oh, that’s what you get! Don’t insult a horse as smart as Princess! Even your cat is a better rider than you.”

Anders scrambled up from the ground and brushed off his robes. What Hawke said was true; the cat was lying contently on Princess’ saddle, purring happily with eyes closed. “Okay, well…horses are overrated.”

“Calm down, your highness, no need to get huffy. We’re approaching the city.” Hawke teased, patting Anders’ shoulder reassuringly. “Look.”

All his life, Anders had only know the tower. Maps had been presented to him timidly, but Anders had seized them eagerly all the same. He studied the maps of Thedas religiously his entire life, dreaming of oceans, forests, deserts, mountains, cities! And now...Kirkwall loomed before them like a massive gray mountain surrounded by the opening of the Narrow Sea, bridges and boats allowing them safe passage across. Peopled milled in and out of the city, holding lanterns to fight off the oncoming darkness, dressed in rich colors and odd fashions Anders had never seen.

“Wow.” He breathed out slowly and turned to Hawke, amber eyes wide with wonderment. “This is Kirkwall? It’s huge.”

“Not even the biggest city, buddy.” Hawke chuckled, holding Princess’ reins as they slowly crossed the first bridge.

As they drew closer Anders could pick out the accents of bronze that glittered about the city, little flecks of it even in the stone roads. Already Anders had thought he had seen enough people to last his entire lifetime, but yet there were more in Kirkwall, filling the city with more noise than seemed possible. Anders stuck close to Hawke, careful to keep up. They traveled inward into the city first, to drop off Princess at the city’s stables for the night. Anders thought they would travel back to the docks where all the festivities seemed to be, but Hawke made them stop at the bazaar instead.

“I don’t know how to say this nicely.” Hawke sighed. “If I’m going to be seen with you around Kirkwall, we need to get you cleaned up.” He said gently, slowly, hands clasped together as if he was praying for luck.

“What’s wrong with how I look?” Anders asked, feeling a tad offended. Ser Pounce-a-Lot, atop Anders’ shoulders, gave a protesting ‘mew’.

“You look like a hobo apostate. _No offense_. But I look at you and see...possibility.” Hawke assured Anders, nodding to one of the nearby shops. “You don’t have any money on you, do you?”

Anders pondered that for a moment, feeling into one of his pouches and pulling out a small bag of coins. “Perhaps this? Father gave me some every year.” Upon further inspection, Hawke saw that the ‘small’ bag was filled with very expensive coins, and he almost drooled at the sight.

“I should have just robbed you, Maker’s breath.” Sighing, Hawke dragged Anders into his favorite clothing shop to get him out of those old rags.

\---

Hawke sat waiting in front of the dressing rooms, leafing through one of the newspapers left lying around. He could hear Anders quietly protesting from behind the curtain, but knew the tailor would take good care of the skinny mage. 

At the sound of the curtain being pushed back, Hawke glanced up from the newspaper and bit his lip to hold back a little gasp of surprise. Anders shuffled on the dias, hands haughty on his hips as the tailor observed his look. Anders was dressed simply -- in a large, white linen shirt that opened generously in the front to expose the jutting collarbone and brief dusting of blonde chest hair on his chest. The shirt was tucked into a tight pair of tan pants, a bright green sash about his waist to accent how very lean he was. Hawke glanced ever downwards, impressed by how fashionable his boots were as well. “Look at you. The total package!” Hawke smiled at Anders, pleased when the thin mage gave a responding smile, shy as it was. Anders reached back and combed his hair with his fingers, watching himself in one of the mirrors.

“It's not what I'm used to, typically, but...it’s comfortable. And now it’s your turn.” Anders gave a small nod to the tailor, who presented Hawke with his own selection of clothes. Surprised by the gesture, Hawke took the pile into his arms and ran a hand over the smooth texture of the tunic.

“You’re sure?” Anders gave a small nod and Hawke stood, more pleased by the gesture than he let on. There was no reason for the gift, and yet Anders still saw fit to spend a few gold coins on him. “Thank you.”

“Hurry up and get changed so we can go see the lights!” Anders pushed Hawke into the dressing room, his turn now to take a seat and leaf through the newspaper.

‘25th Anniversary of Prince’s Birthday! Good Weather Speaks Well for Festival’ the header read, Anders skimming his eyes down the page with alighted interest. “Hawke? This Festival is to celebrate the Prince’s birthday?” Anders asked, reading the answer even as he spoke.

“Yeah!” Came Hawke’s muffled answer on the other side of the curtain. “He’s the Viscount’s son. Went missing twenty five years ago, so every year we light the sky in his memory. He’s not really a prince, but, well, I don’t know. It’s a nickname or something.”

Anders continued to read the article, biting his bottom as his eyes skimmed the pictures. What a sweet way to remember someone lost to Kirkwall, if a bit extravagant to go on for twenty five years. And yet, for twenty five times Anders had watched the lights float in the sky and wished to explore a world filled with such wonders. He was a little grateful for the Viscount’s misery, in that sense.

“Alright!” Hawke swept back the curtain and posed for Anders, who completely ignored him to read more about this alleged ‘Prince’. When Hawke finally cleared his throat, and Anders looked up, he was rewarded by a low whistle. “Thank you, thank you.” Hawke struck another pose, saying, “I know you don’t see this sort of handsome everyday. Do try to control yourself.” He was dressed similarly in style, with a tight-fitted, button-up black tunic with dark harem pants tucked into knee-high riding boots. Little bits of copper accented his tunic and boots, and Anders couldn’t help but think Hawke would fit the role of this missing ‘Prince’ pretty well.

They paid for their clothes and walked out onto the street, Anders alarmed with how dark it already was. People were gathered in mass at the docks, and Hawke had to do his fair part in smooth-talking to get them a boat on the water. Though Anders had a feeling the woman in charge of rentals was so desperate to get away from Hawke’s blundering attempts at flirting that giving them the boat seemed to be the fastest way to getting rid of him. Anders sat back and let Hawke row them out into the deeper waters, Ser Pounce-a-Lot rested comfortably in Anders’ lap, occasionally swatting at a ball of light if it came close enough. “I think this is far enough.” Hawke huffed for breath, a bit winded, and set the oars down beside him in the boat.

The lights were growing in number, even in the little time it took them to row from the docks, and Anders found himself staring up at the night sky with wonder. Mages gathered their magic and let it float gently, some lights dipping near the water, others illuminating high in the sky. “It’s beautiful. More than I could ever imagine.” Anders murmured, startled when he felt a tear spill down his cheek. He bent his head to wipe it away and found Hawke watching him.

They locked gazes for a breathless second before Hawke pressed his hands together, drawing together enough magic to form a small ball of light of his own. He grinned up at Anders, waiting until the lean man followed suit. “Ready? 1...2...3.” Together they released their orbs of light into the sky, watching as they floated upwards together, bumping every so often like a pair of fledgling birds that didn’t know how to fly just yet. “Happy birthday.” Hawke said softly, Anders’ attention drawn back to the burly mage.

“Hawke. Thank you.” Anders cleared his throat and watched Hawke turn away, the man’s gaze swept across the water. He hadn’t known this man for very long, but...Anders thought back to their kiss, however brief, at the foot of the tower. He breathed out, heart hammering in his chest, and slowly sang,

 _“All those days watching from the windows_  
_All those years outside looking in_  
_All that time never even knowing_  
_Just how blind I've been_  
_Now I'm here, blinking in the starlight_  
_Now I'm here, suddenly I see_  
_Being here, it's all so clear  
_ _I'm where I'm meant to be.”_

Anders did not know if he had a good enough voice to sing, but he wanted to, not knowing how else to share his feelings. When Hawke looked at Anders -- and Maker, that smile -- he knew it was the right decision. Hawke answered with his own strong, clear voice, singing,

 _“All those days chasing down a daydream_  
_All those years living in a blur_  
_All that time never truly seeing_  
_Things, the way they were_  
_Now he's here, shining in the starlight_  
_Now he's here, suddenly I know_  
_If he's here it's crystal clear  
_ _I'm where I'm meant to go.”_

The two men stared at one another, finally breaking down into a fit of giggles and laughter. Ser Pounce-a-Lot gave them a curious ‘mew’ and pressed his paw gently onto Anders’ thigh, the man hurriedly scooping up his cat. “This is _ridiculous_ , isn’t it?” Anders asked, still laughing softly.

“You have a good voice. At least I’m being serenaded by someone with a good set of chords.” Hawke mused, pressing his lips together as he smiled.

“I could say the same of you. I am. I’m trying to seduce you, I mean.” Anders felt his cheeks heat and ran a hand through his hair. Maker, this was stupid, wasn’t it? He only had those cheesy romance novels to go off of, but Maker strike him down if this wasn’t the perfect romantic setting. Anders was drawn from his panicked thoughts only when he noticed Hawke shift in his seat across from him.

“Anders, I’m going to kiss you.”

His heart missed a beat. “Maker, _please_.”

Hawke was pressed against him faster than seemed possible, and Ser Pounce-a-Lot barely had enough time to squeeze away before he was squashed between the two men. Anders accepted Hawke’s guidance in their kisses, not having any experience of his own to go off of. When he felt Hawke’s tongue swipe against his bottom lip, Anders froze, and Hawke quickly took notice, pulling back before Anders could protest. “Too fast?” Maker, Hawke’s voice was husky, and Anders felt a red hot warmth shoot down his spine at sound of heat in his voice.

But before he could answer, another boat knocked up against theirs, Hawke and Anders blinking against the bright light as Knight Commander Meredith stared coolly down at them.

“A good evening to you, Serah Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, what's going to happen to Hawke and Anders!?  
> Finally got to the kissing scene though. :)
> 
> Lyrics come from 'I See the Light' from Tanged. Slightly edited.


	7. Act 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A daring escape!

“So I hope this doesn’t put a damper on the whole thing we had going between us.” Hawke said softly, his voice echoing in the empty darkness of his jail cell. “Cuz that was nice.”

Anders sighed noisily from his own cell. “You failed to mention those jewels were _stolen_.”

“I was going to mention it somewhere in between the singing, promise.” Hawke picked at his handcuffs unsuccessfully, knowing if he tried to melt them the liquid metals would burn into his skin in a very unpleasant manner. “I got a little distracted.”   
  
Infuriated with himself that his cheeks were burning at that sly comment, Anders tried to make himself more comfortable on his cot to no success. “What now? We wait until we are executed for your crimes against the Viscount?”

“Maker, I hope not. Normally I would rely on one of my friends to get me out, but Meredith puts a wrench in that plan. She’s especially good with reining in mages. Case and point, these damn wards…” Hawke kicked the door to his cell and cursed when it threw up a barrier instantaneously. The man paused for a moment, hearing the brief sound of scuffling outside the jail doors. “Do you hear that?” Both men fell silent to listen -- at first there was no sound but the soft scuffle of rats on the stone floors. But then Hawke heard the sound again, the unmistakable sound of someone poor fool hitting the ground.

There were groans for mercy that quickly went silent, replaced with the sound of the jail door slowly opening. Anders recognized that blue glow anywhere -- “Justice!” he cried out, pleased when he saw his father holding the cell’s keys.

Justice met Anders’ relieved smile with a sour glare. “Silence, Anders. You doubted me and look where you are -- in this disgusting hovel.” Justice growled, walking over to unlock Anders’ cell. Hawke had been pressed to the bars just until he caught smell of Justice’s stench of rotting flesh, doing his best not to gag rudely. But Anders did not seem to mind, holding still as Justice cracked open his handcuffs. “Let us leave before any templars take notice.” The new stranger moved to leave with Anders, but the mage held him back with an uncertain grip.

“We should release Hawke too, surely?” Anders asked, glancing back at his companion in chains.

Justice let out a small sigh and wrenched his arm from Anders’ grip, hard enough that Hawke thought he would see the arm fall off. “I have no time for criminals. He will get the justice he deserves for breaking the law.”

“Only so that I could feed my family! The viscount can afford a few more jewels -- my family can’t afford not to eat!” Hawke said, slamming his hands against the bars in protest. Justice narrowed his eyes at Hawke’s excuse, but Anders seemed more sympathetic.

“Is that true? That’s why?”

Hawke took a small step back from the bars, dropping his hands to his side and refusing to meet Anders’ gaze. “That’s why half of Kirkwall steals. There’s too big a gap between the rich and the poor, and the poor have no champion to stand for their cause.”

“Justice, Father, please…” Anders turned to Justice, but the corpse shook his head in clear refusal, if his growing scowl wasn’t enough.

“Look at him, Anders. He is a criminal, just as all those who are not just. He is a killer, with loose morals, and not what you need to be exposed to. The tower kept you safe from such people, and you left it. Do you see now what I was protecting you from?”

Hawke felt his blood run cold when Anders refused to look at him, each insult driving it’s way into Hawke’s heart. And then Anders made it hurt all the more, saying, “You’re right. I was wrong to doubt you, Father.”

“Anders, wait!” Hawke cried out, dropping to his knees when the two walked back to the exit. In a split-second, everything changed. Anders grabbed the keys from Justice and pushed him through the open door, slamming it shut and locking it before the spirit could even understand what was happening. Anders ran back to Hawke’s cell and unlocked the door, staring down at Hawke with a calm coolness.

“C’mon! There are better times to be on your knees, _Hawke_!” Anders grabbed Hawke up and they fled to the end of the prison’s hallway, pausing only when the hit a dead-end of pure stone. “Let’s hit it with all we got!” The two mages took their stances and channeled their fire magic against the wall with all the force they could muster. When the wall started to buckle and melt under the heat, Hawke grabbed Anders up in his arms and the two jumped, yelling as they plunged straight into the Narrow Sea.

Hawke was the first to surface, dragging the clinging Anders up with him, doing his best to swim the both of them to shore since Anders could apparently not even tread water. Upon reaching the stoney shore, the two scrambled up the beach and into the treeline, coughing up seawater and gasping for air as search lights hovered overhead. Hawke could hear templars yelling from the prison, as well as Meredith’s shrill voice, and knew they needed a safeplace immediately.

Feeling the body pressed against him shiver, Hawke ran a hand up Anders’ arm, knowing it would take a few minutes for all their mana to replenish. “Why’d you come back? Justice was right you know; I’m not exactly a good influence.”

Anders opened his eyes and rested his chin on Hawke’s head, much to the burly mage’s amusement. “If you’re bad I don’t want to be good. Maker’s breath, at least with you I’m having fun.”

“You’re not just saying that? Because we have almost died...twice, today.” Hawke chuckled and squeezed Ander’s waist, at least until Anders pulled away, their wet clothes doing little to warm them even if pressed together.

The two of them stood with minor griping, water dripping heavily on the grass where they stood. “Stick with me, then, and I’ll show you a grand time. On or off my knees.” Hawke added with a little chuckle, grinning when Anders blushed. “But first let’s find someplace safe.”


	8. Act 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Anders reach out for help  
> in the end, discovering each other in the process

Aveline wasn’t Hawke’s first choice when it came to finding someplace to hide, but she was closest and would at least listen to Hawke before kicking his ass. Showing up soaking wet on Aveline’s doorstep, the guards-captain had quickly ushered them inside, no questions asked.

A warm change of clothes, a cup of tea, and some biscuits later, Aveline was smacking Hawke’s head with the flat of her hand. “Owwwww!” Hawke whined, ducking his head as Aveline straightened. “That was called for, but still! OW!” Aveline smacked the other side of his head for good measure and stood back, hands on her hips.

“What were you thinking, Hawke? Tomorrow I would have woken to your head on a pike for your idiocy! And you drag a pedestrian into your mess, as well? You’re a fool.”

“I could have told you that.” Anders mentioned coolly, taking a sip of his tea while Hawke nervously glanced up.

“Look, it’s a long story! Why do I feel like I’ve said that _at least_ ten times already…?”

“Because you have.” Anders pointed out, stealing another biscuit. He hadn’t had a chance to eat since lunch, and the long day had worn him out considerably. Hawke seemed hungry as well, but when the two men exchanged glances, they knew it would not be a good idea to ask Aveline if they could raid her pantry.

“Enough!” Aveline threw up her hands in frustration. “You two may stay the night, but in the morning I expect an explanation. Understood?” She looked pointedly at Hawke, who was chugging down the rest of his tea. She shook her head and walked back upstairs, Donnic following after saying goodnight to the two mages.

After finishing the rest of the refreshments laid out, they headed upstairs, Anders following after Hawke since he seemed to know where he was going. The guest room was small, but it was better than a lumpy couch. Hawke closed the door behind them and started to strip, wearing nothing but his underclothes as he climbed into the bed. He was a bit self conscious, you could tell that by how he refused to face Anders as he stripped, though nothing _seemed_ amiss. Hawke was as muscled as he looked, with toned arms and legs and a soft belly that jutted out from his tight underclothes. Most noticeably was the tangle of scars running all over Hawke’s body, clustered especially on his shoulders and down his spine. Though if anything impressed Anders the most, it was the mass of black hair Hawke seemed to have everywhere. Anders stood by the door, unsure what to do as Hawke made himself comfortable.

Hawke took notice, though, and asked after a moment, “What’s up?”

“Just...thinking.” Anders picked at the belt of his robe, alarmed when Hawke rolled onto his side, back facing him.

“I won’t look.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?” Hawke rolled back onto his back, that black hair of his tussled already by how much he had been moving about. Anders wanted desperately to run his hand through it.

“Have you really killed people?” Anders asked, ignoring the slight tremor in his voice. The question made Hawke pause, buying time as he brought his hands to rest on his stomach.

“Yeah. Most of the time for self-defense, but...it’s not always so black and white.” Hawke bit his lip, amber eyes trained on Anders’ confused expression. “I don’t take pride in it, but it’s happened.”

Anders sat on the edge of the bed, head dipped low as he let his hair down and ran a hand through it slowly, lazily. When he said nothing, Hawke sat up. “If me being here makes you uncomfortable…”

“It’s not that.” Anders put his hair back up, pulling tight. “There’s so much about this world I still don’t understand, even with everything you’ve shown me. I want to know more about people, about Kirkwall, about you. I want to know so much.”

“I don’t know. My life is pretty boring.” Hawke chuckled weakly, flinching back when Anders twisted around.

“No, no, don’t say that! I want to know.” When Hawke started to laugh, Anders huffed and crossed his arms. “What’s so amusing?”   
  
“You are. You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met. Fine. Settle in, and I’ll tell you.” Hawke smiled when Anders stripped down and crawled under the covers, looking up at him like a curious mabari pup. “Twenty two years ago, on the hottest day of summer, a magnificent child was born. His twin sister also happened to be there, but let’s focus on me.”


	9. Act 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Anders work on that whole 'wanted men' thing

“The Viscount’s condition has taken a severe turn for the worst. I’m afraid I have no time for you today, Hawke.” Aveline informed them over breakfast, watching Anders work the scrambled eggs on the stove. Already the table had been covered with food: toast, cooked ham, pancakes, both milk and juice, sliced fruit, and a light salad, and yet Anders continued to make them breakfast. Aveline sipped at her morning juice and continued, “Surely you’ve heard rumors of Meredith’s vie for the title of Viscount. You and I both know that woman does not need anymore power at her disposal. If we can keep the Viscount alive for just awhile longer…”

“What’s he sick with? This came on pretty suddenly, didn’t it?” Hawke asked while somehow managing to shovel pancakes into his mouth. Aveline watched him with a displeased look, wishing the man would at least attempt manners.

“Unfortunately. It started with a fever and now it’s this horrible coughing. He can hardly keep any food down as it is, and he’s growing weaker by the day.” Aveline gave a solemn nod and finished the rest of her drink.

“So he has whooping cough.” Anders said from the stove, turning off the fire as he flipped the eggs once more. The stunned silence made the mage turn around, wondering why everyone was staring at him like that. “What? It’s very treatable. Old, rare, but treatable.”

“Well.” Aveline stood from her seat and gave Anders a small smile. “Are you busy today, Anders?”

\---------------------------

“I’ll need these herbs, if you please.” Anders handed his list off to one of the servants at the Viscount’s estate, watching with fascination as the woman saluted him and hurried off.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The court mage in charge of healing the Viscount looked unsure about this whole arrangement, even after Anders had the courtesy to explain how he planned on treating the ailing man.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Aveline shot back, satisfied when the man slinked away under her harsh gaze. “Ridiculous.”   
  
“I was just thinking the same thing.” Hawke added, leafing through the Viscount’s display books, finally pulling one of the many books of law. “Why am I here again?”

“If Anders can cure the Viscount like he claims, perhaps the man will feel generous enough to...oh, I don’t know. Pardon your horrendous crimes?”

“Point taken. Still, with obvious wealth like this, you think he wouldn’t get so hung up on a few gems.” The estate was extravagant, truly, but it was also home to most of the governmental offices of Kirkwall. The size and presentation of the building was apparently more  important than quality of their government.

“The Viscount will see you now.” One of the servants approached the trio, leading them into the private quarters off in the right wing. As soon as the servant opened the door, Hawke’s nose caught the stench of sickness, and he was careful to mask his displeasure from the smell. The Viscount was coughing so hard he couldn’t even address the group -- instead his wife stood, looking desperately hopeful as she greeted the strangers. “Oh, please tell me you have some way to curse this accursed plight.” She turned to Anders, noting the herbs he held in his hands.

“Whooping cough is extremely rare these days; I’ll need you all to stand back.” Anders took a seat next to the Viscount and started to crush the herbs into a bowl, smiling at the wonderful aroma the plants emitted. “Here -- this will help.” When the Viscount was able to stop coughing, he quickly drank down the mixture Anders had prepared, gasping as the soothing drink rushed through his body. Everyone looked on expectantly as the Viscount sat back in bed. A minute passed. Then another, all with no coughing.

The Viscount’s wife burst into tears, hurrying towards her husband with a choking gasp. But Anders held her back with a quick shake of his head. “He is still weak. You’ll need to have this mixed for him for the next few days -- make sure he drinks one glass at least three times a day.”

“Hold, boy.” The Viscount spoke, voice raw with pain, and motioned Anders over. “Who are you? None of my healers before have…”

“Save your voice.” Anders gently quieted the older man, who quickly slumped back in his bed when given the chance. “I have done nothing but read and study my entire life -- I took interest in healing arts because it meant I could help. But if you must know, my name is Anders.”

“We must repay you somehow.” The Viscount’s wife spoke up quickly, wanting to save her husband the trouble of hurting his throat more. “Send some coins to your house, or…? What is your given name?”

“I have none. I never knew my true parents. All I have to remember them is this.” Anders slowly drew out a handkerchief from his pocket, showing the Lady Viscount. They all stared down in shock at the Viscount’s family emblem.   
  
“Well shit.” Hawke whispered.


	10. Act 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders adjusts to life outside of the Tower  
> CHAPTER RATED M FOR MILD SEXUAL TONES

“So. What’s my naughty Viscount been up to, huh?” Hawke asked with a smirk, standing next to Anders as they bought their corn dogs, mingling with the huge mass of people that had shown up for the festival.

“Maker, not so loud!” Anders chewed on his new piece of food and tugged Hawke further away from the noisy street. The transition from prisoner in a tower to Viscount of Kirkwall was one hell of a ride, even with Hawke by his side. His first act as the Viscount’s son was to plead for Hawke’s pardoning, which went even better when Anders pulled the missing jewels from the inside of his pocket, where he had been keeping them for the last two days.

His second act was to unite with Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who was easily found with Merrill’s assistance. Hawke and his friends watched Anders weep openly over his found friend in the grimy backstreets of Lowtown. _That was awkward_. Varric had been the first to speak, saying softly, “Blondie _really_ needs some friends, huh Hawke?”

And his third act...was to learn everything about Kirkwall. When he had found everything to know in books, he traveled with Hawke through the cobblestone streets to learn what no book would ever share. He saw their poverty first-hand and, taking from Justice’s past guidance, enacted justice.

The slums were scrubbed clean and renovated, proper health care brought to those who could not afford even the simplest of treatments, and those who preyed on the weak struck down by Hawke and his crew. The Viscount was invigorated by Anders’ visions of a brighter future, and when he stepped down from his seat of power, it was Anders who took his place.

And when that was done, and Anders felt he could finally come to terms with his past, they returned to the tower. Or they tried, at least. In the little time that Anders had been away, the entire tower had been burned down leaving nothing but fallen stones and the occasional remains of something poking from the rubble. Anders approached the ruins and gently tugged free a chipped piece of painted glass, holding it up to the sun to appreciate the display of color. Now there was no way to return.

Hawke eventually made his way over to Anders, now sitting amidst the ruins with his head in his hands. He stood behind and let out a small sigh, knowing Anders was mourning the loss of the only home he ever knew. “Why do you think Justice did it all? Kidnapped you, raised you, then burnt it all to ash?” 

Anders gave a small shake of his head, hearing the distant laughter of Marian and Isabela as they uncovered bits of the ‘Dying Templars’ mural. “Now we’ll never know. But I’m not sure it’s something worth discovering.”

\-----

Anders transformed in the last three years and Hawke did as well, his new purpose shaping him into a Champion for the people so long forgotten. He was now greeted with smiles and calls of welcome instead of the scowls and despair-filled glares. Kirkwall was transformed into a city of hope, and became a standard to which every city strived.

The first year Anders had been so busy growing into his new role that Hawke was content to stand by his side as a friend. The second year, after Hawke had been given the title ‘Champion of Kirkwall’, and the two could barely keep up stiff formalities in Anders’ office without breaking into laughter, he knew more was needed. There was something more than lust driving their actions now -- though, Maker, there was plenty of lust there as well. Their first night was -- as corny as this was to say, with the both of them being mages -- magical in every sense of the word. And Hawke continued to amaze him every day afterwards.

So when they stole down this dark alleyway, breathless and hand-in-hand, Anders could not keep himself from smiling. Three years later and here they were, still impossibly in love. “Aren’t you supposed to give some fancy speech in a few? I’m not chasing you all over Kirkwall, love.” Anders heard Hawke laugh behind him, the two of them slowing to a stop. Hawke quickly took advantage of the situation to press Anders back against the wall, the two of them hidden from eyes of curious passerbys.

Seemingly remembering that he still had a corn dog in hand, Hawke brought it to his lips and proceeded to make extremely obscene gestures with it, keeping contact with Anders’ amber gaze the entire time. It would have been hot, but Hawke was having a hard time taking it at all. Anders laughed, both hands on Hawke’s chest to push him away. “Can’t keep the corn dog down, Hawke?”

Hawke took a bite of the food and chewed, throwing the rest on the alley floor. “I normally practice with something a bit smaller.”

Though Anders squirmed under Hawke’s pressing, he let his hands get snatched up and pinned back against the wall. “You’re absolutely disgusting. And mean. How can you just hurt my feelings like it’s nothing?”

Hawke licked his lips and grinned, tightening his grip just a touch. “Here, let me make it up to you.”

Anders let out a content noise as Hawke pressed his lips to his neck, sucking hard enough that there would be a mark there later. “Not so high. I have to hide it.” Anders complained, stilling the instant Hawke pressed his thigh between his legs, moving it just enough to get some friction going.

“What was that?” Hawke growled into Anders’ ear, one hand trailing up his lover’s thigh, pausing when he felt something hard and stiff poking through the fabric of his pants. “Ooh, better question; what’s this?”

Panic rushed through Anders as Hawke reached down into his pants to find out what it was. Ripping his hands from Hawke’s grip, Anders’ turned against the stone wall, making Hawke pause long enough that he could adjust the small box in his trousers. Maker knew he didn’t want Hawke discovering it just yet. But when Anders glanced over his shoulder, he almost regretted his actions. Hawke looked confused and worried all at once, one hand hovering where Anders had once been. “Shit, love, I didn’t mean…”

“No, no, it’s fine! I’ll meet you back at home.” Anders ducked out of the alleyway before Hawke could guilt him into telling the truth. Maker take him, Anders had bought that ring five months ago and still had yet to work up the courage to propose to Hawke, being the giant coward that he was. There was no sign saying that Hawke would reject the proposal, but...Shaking himself free of all thoughts, Anders instead focused on the words he would say to the people of Kirkwall as they celebrated their second year of Anders as Viscount.

Hawke would just have to wait.

 


	11. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand finale!  
> CHAPTER RATED E FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT SO BE WARNED
> 
> smut gets it's own chapter lol. It turned out to be so long;;

The idea of going home was enough to make Anders shiver, but he had to confront Hawke sometime. This wasn’t his ideal day or timing, but the cat was out of the bag. As Anders unlocked the door to his and Hawke’s shared estate, he let out a sigh and pressed forward. Ser Pounce-a-Lot was the first thing he saw, the cat waiting at the doorway like the loyal, sweet creature he was. “What are you doing up so late?” Anders cooed, scooping up his cat into his arms and grinning when the cat nuzzled him. “It’s _waaaay_ past your bedtime, mister.”

Remembering the conversation he might have to have, Anders set Ser Pounce-a-Lot on the couch and headed upstairs, grateful when the cat did not follow. The door was slightly ajar, and Anders could see Hawke already laying in bed, seemingly asleep. Instead of heading straight to bed, Anders instead tip-toed into the bathroom and washed up, giving him some time to formulate a plan. All that was thrown out the window when Anders returned and found Hawke awake and sitting up in bed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Anders said as he pulled off his boots, closing the bedroom door with a soft click.

“I had only just fallen asleep.” Hawke insisted, watching his lover undress with a sort of wary sadness. “Is everything okay? Anders, love, you know you can tell me anything.”

Anders again cursed himself for reacting so violently towards Hawke in the alleyway and pulled off his tunic to buy himself so time. “Everything’s fine.” His words felt false, and before he knew it, Hawke was standing from bed. “Hold a moment, love.” Anders said quietly, holding a hand out.

Hawke waited before Anders, shifting from one hip to the other, this incredible man so worried over something so easily explained. Anders let out a big sigh and reached into his pocket. Before he could lose all courage, Anders held out the box and stammered out a weak and tiny, “ _Will you marry me?_ ”

Hawke laughed. Anders felt his face burn red, but then Hawke was _kissing_ him and that was _nice_. “W-why are you laughing, Hawke?” Anders demanded, holding Hawke back long enough to look him in the eye.

Hawke gave Anders’ nose one more kiss before he hurried over to the bedroom dresser on his side of the bed, pulling out his own matching ring box. “Okay, let’s see whose is bigger.” Oh. Anders felt tears well up in his eyes and stood to meet Hawke halfway.

“Oh, Garrett.” On a count of three they opened their boxes and admired what their lover had chosen. Anders chose something simple and clean for Hawke -- a gold band just thick and smooth enough that it wouldn’t hurt if Hawke threw a punch with it on. Hawke had of course chosen something a bit flashier for Anders, the band bright red with five small diamonds pressed into the metal.

“It’s the best I could afford.” Hawke took the ring he bought for Anders and slowly slid it onto his skinny hand, kissing his knuckles once it was secure. “Think it’ll do for the Viscount of Kirkwall?”

Anders slid his ring onto Hawke’s finger and felt all the pressure lift off his shoulders. “We really need to raise your pay if this is all you can afford.” Hawke smirked at Anders just long enough for him to know he hadn’t hurt his lover’s feelings, the two of them meeting again to kiss.

“Ass.” Hawke growled, pushing Anders back onto the bed, one hand holding both of his above his head. “Maker take me. I’m going to fuck you hard Anders and I want to hear you squeal.”

“Then work for it.” That got Hawke straddling him fast, the two of them running off adrenaline and love. With his thighs spread to give him leverage, Hawke bent over Anders and claimed his lips with powerful urging. Hawke’s hands eventually dropped away from Anders’, only so that he could let them  roam down Anders’ body, slowly prying apart each article of clothing to reveal more of the man he loved. Anders arched slightly under his hand, groaning in a voice that would be rough with need.

“I love you.” Hawke whispered as he kissed his way down, sucking hard on one of his nipples before trailing even lower.

“Garrett.” Anders whined in response, lifting his hips just so from the mattress. “Maker, I love you, too.” He whimpered when Hawke popped the buttons off his trousers and pulled his cock free, already half-hard and warm in Hawke’s large hand. He opened one eye slowly to watch Hawke lick and suck his way up his cock, knowing every curve of it by heart. One hand idly rolled his balls while the other wrapped around Anders’ base to get him rigid and hard. Careful of every thrust and whimper, Hawke held himself up on his elbows and slowly took Anders fully, relaxing so he could deep-throat him easily.

Anders choked when Hawke took him completely, toes curling as he voiced his want. “Maker, Garrett!” Without a sound, Hawke started to move up and down, tongue pressed up against the heavy weight of Anders’ cock. He took Anders up and down with a few lazy dips of his head, drinking in each breathless gasp and moan of his name. The introduction of salty precum made Hawke suck his way up to the head, tongue dipping into the slit and lapping up what came out. This time Hawke held eye contact with Anders, making a small disapproving noise when Anders’ hips snapped up desperately. Hawke lowered his head again, nose buried in the tangled dark curls at Anders’ base, the head of his cock barely brushing against the back of his throat.

Hawke wanted desperately to tell Anders how good he tasted, how he could lie there and suck him off all day if Anders would let him. But a tentative hand in Hawke’s dark hair let him know his husband-to-be was close. Hawke lifted Anders’ legs just a tad, groaning low as he continued to move up and down. It took just a few repetitions before Anders came, holding Hawke’s head close as he thrust once. They were still for a moment before Anders relinquished his hold on Hawke’s hair, allowing the man to lift his head and tauntingly lick his lips. “Shit.” Anders moaned from bed, shivering when Hawke took his cock in hand and pumped some creation magic into him, getting Anders rock-hard again in seconds. “Garrett…”

“Where’s the oil?” Hawke growled, pleased when he wasn’t able to get a coherent answer from his lover. “Fine...I’ll just look for it myself.” Hawke slid from bed and walked over to Anders’ nightstand to shuffle around -- finding books, cat toys, human toys, and all else but no lube. Frowning, Hawke went to his nightstand and ran his hand through the contents inside, growing desperate when he still found no lube. “Are we out?” Hawke looked back to Anders on the bed, the man sprawled out and still coming down from his orgasm. Fuck, Maker, fuck it all, he was not going to let tonight end there.

“I think you kicked it off the bed last night.” Anders hummed from the bed, sitting up long enough to shake his dull blonde locks from his ponytail. “Remember, you said you would get it in the morning?”

Hawke bent down beside the bed and peered underneath, instantly spotting the colorful bottle. He grabbed it, but not before feeling a shy hand on his ass from above. Straightening slowly, Hawke grinned up at Anders, enjoying the answering smile he got in return. “Someone like what he sees?”

Anders tugged Hawke back up on the bed, laughing when it creaked in protest. “I always do. You have such a nice, nice ass.” They gently bumped foreheads and kissed, long and slow, Hawke tilting his head slowly when their tongues met. He chuckled when he felt Anders’ hand trailing down to grip his ass, tightening his grip on the lanky man’s waist. “Didn’t choke this time, I noticed.” Anders whispered, pulling away with a sigh as he palmed Hawke’s cock through his tight underclothes.

“I wanted you so bad in my mouth. I would have you all day, all night, if I didn’t know how much fun it is to sink into you.” Hawke was gasping hard now, dotting Anders’ skin with love bites as he rutted into Anders’ hand. “You make these sounds, and I can’t control myself. It’s a wonder...I held myself back for a whole..y-year.”

Feeling the pre spilling into his palm, Anders quickened his strokes, loving how quickly Hawke was coming undone. “You never were a patient man.”

“Neither were you.” Hawke teased, stilling as he rose to his knees, hands grasping Anders’ shoulders. Anders shifted his hand just so, letting Hawke’s own precum speed his jerks up and down his cock. And then Hawke was gone, spilling hot seed onto Anders’ hand and his own belly. Anders brought Hawke into his embrace, the two of them falling back into the bed with short-lived laughter. They rolled together, hands greedy as they touched and stroked all they desired, pausing only when Hawke whispered ‘please’ into Anders’ ear.

With some gentle urging, Anders got on his hands and knees for Hawke. He could hardly hold back his eager keening when he felt Hawke’s oiled fingers brush across his ass cheeks. Now this was something the two played with -- Hawke had gotten it down to a perfection, with his speed, his roughness, when a little bit of magic was appreciated most. Anders spread his legs when Hawke started, just with one finger, the oil and years of practice making it oh so easy. A few moments, and Hawke added another finger, watching Anders gasp and tremble for more.

Anders dipped his hips lower to the bed, the head of his cock rubbing against the sheets and sending wave after wave of pleasure. Hawke slid in a third finger, leaning forward so that his body pressed against Anders’ back. “Don’t be naughty.” Hawke breathed against Anders’ neck, his free hand moving down to slowly stroke his throbbing cock. Anders immediately groaned, low, growing desperate for Hawke.

When Hawke finally pushed himself inside Anders, he was so sensitive he cried out. Hawke stilled over Anders, the two of them curled into each other, fitting so perfectly. Maker, Anders loved it when Hawke pressed him against the mattress like this, making him feel simultaneously protected and dominated, the heavy weight a constant reminder of how powerful his lover ia. All thoughts fled after that -- Hawke started to move his hips.

However much he complained about the creaky bed, Hawke loved how it sounded when they made love, the springs creaking in protest in time with each thrust. Hawke closed his eyes as he concentrated, hips thrusting in and out as he fucked Anders. Hawke didn’t make much noise in bed, but Maker, Anders did. He would groan and sigh and his breath would hitch in the most delicious ways, but Hawke loved it especially when he pleaded, “Garrett, _fuck_ , G-Garret!”

Hawke bit his lip as he thrust faster, hands fisted in the sheets when the wet sounds of their union grew louder. Anders was close, his gasps less coherent but still pleading, wanting a release as badly as Hawke. Just a few more desperate, quick strokes and Anders was cumming, back arching as he moaned. Hawke set his teeth in Anders’ shoulder and quickly followed, pressing forward so hard that Anders’ knees shifted with the weight, sliding on the sheets.

“Maker, Garrett…” Anders shivered when Hawke pulled away, his hot seed spilling down on the sheets between them. Hawke smiled at the sight and ran a hand between Anders’ ass cheeks, cupping and rubbing away the soreness with a bit of heat magic.

_“I love you.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading and showing all their support! This AU has been fun for me to write, I hope you all enjoyed it as well. :)


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